


in all my life, i’ve loved you more

by softsmilesandbrokenhearts



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Falling In Love, First Kiss, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Period-Typical Homophobia, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23121823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softsmilesandbrokenhearts/pseuds/softsmilesandbrokenhearts
Summary: in retrospect, john always knew. or five times john found himself falling in love, and one time he knows that he is loved in return.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 34
Kudos: 99





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is based off a poem i found on twitter a while back, i can’t remember the author but i imagine it can be easily found.
> 
> obviously this is just fiction and in no way do i intend any slander or libel towards the people mentioned.
> 
> i excuse anything out of character, and i hope you enjoy.

“first. he touches you and you light on fire. your wrist blazes where his fingers meet your skin. the burns don’t show, but it’s hard to breathe with ash in your lungs. it’s so hard to breathe. you’re suffocating daily.”

-

time is such a fickle thing, and you are far too aware of the fact that nothing lasts forever. and yet, you find yourself holding on to the simple hope that perhaps he will stay. he is extraordinary is every way, and you for the life of you, you can’t recall a time when he wasn’t so deeply entwined in your life. 

however right now with the cameras flashing and the yelling from all around him, you think for a brief moment of life without the craziness he brings with him. afterall, you can admit, even if it’s only to yourself, that the group wouldn’t have gotten where it is at without him. and so your self pitying begins, and you wish for the simpler times of your childhood.

you feel his hand grasp your shoulder, and for a small moment you feel yourself relax. fame is such a cowardly thing, it takes and it takes and despite all the work and energy the group puts out, it never gives. you see this now, in the heavy circles under his eyes and the way his smile wavers as the press closes in on them. 

you would go back in time if it meant not dealing with the overwhelming cons of this, and if it meant that the boys would no longer look so devastatingly tired. however you keep this to yourself, knowing far too well what happens when you give your heart freely to others. 

for an embarrassing moment, you dont move and when you feel his hand glide down to your back, you look at him and burn. his eyes brighten despite the increasing roar of screams around them and he gives you a lopsided smirk, as if he knew your troubles. despite yourself, you grin back, and for a moment you believe everything is okay.

unsurprisingly it is not.

the boys know all too well of your faults, and part of you has some self awareness to how absurd and cruel you can get. entering the hotel room in which looks much more like a prison cell, you find yourself dismayed and that never does you any good. you feel a fit crawling under your skin, and as the anger boils beneath your breast, you reach for a drink. you let the anger pent up inside you because lately it’s the only emotion you can feel besides the crushing weight of sadness wrapped around your lungs. george and ringo who had just sat down in the shared suite give each other knowing glances, and you felt your face burn. almost in spite of them, you began to drink at a heavy pace and try to ignore the screams that seemed to echo in the room. stupid fame, you hated the way they didn’t have privacy. the way they couldn’t go out and live life, all because of some stupid teenaged birds that had no life. fucking vultures the lot of them.

you feel something dark brewing inside, and the lack of sobriety and the month and a half of touring makes you snap.

standing up you throw the bottle in your hand at a wall, and watch with half-arsed glee as it shatters. from behind you, someone curses and another calls your name but you don’t give a shit. touring is so fucking stupid, not at all like you dreamed it would be as a kid, and you never imagined this is how life would turn out.

and so, it begins.

approaching the couch where the boys were sitting at you sneer, and point accusingly at all of them at once.

“what do you look so happy for huh? it’s fucking mad this is! and here you are fucking playing cards as if we weren’t being treated like a bunch of slaves!” you say, breath increasing and hands itching for a fight. you aren’t one to hit the boys, but when nature calls and there is no else in the room, so be it. you’ve never been good with dealing with emotions, and the anxiety that bubbles in your chest makes it clear how close you are to breaking. but that will do you no good, so you get angry instead. 

you watch with a sick, twisted fascination as george’s eyebrows furrow and his eyes grow dark, and ringo, ever the peacekeeper but never one to get in the middle of his mates, watches on with growing apprehension and a hand held out as if to soothe you. paul looks up at you with wide eyes and a disappointed look, and it’s so fucking annoying. you didn’t ask to feel like this and you don’t want mr. perfect to judge you. 

you’d take anything but that.

ignoring the boy currently flashing his bright eyes at you, you target george, taking a step towards him and his guitar. “it’s a fucking shame innit? that you have such a nice guitar and yet you can’t play for shit.” you mention offhandedly, picking up the guitar and watching as george’s face darkens. ha, got ya.

“if my playing is shit, then what is yours then?” george mutters, seemingly too calm, but you spot the flash of anger in his eyes as he reaches out to take back his guitar. with a smirk you step back and the bubbling nerves and ire in your lungs lets loose in demented laugh. 

you just need to let the tension out, then everything will be fine. ignore the looks they are giving you, don’t let them stop you.

as you make to play it with george standing up, looking fully ready to give it to him, you feel a warm hand grasp your elbow. shit. instantly you feel the bright warmth of his presence and it infuriates you, how easy he can get under your skin.

you pause despite yourself and turn to look at him, and there he is with his wide eyes and pursed mouth. you frown back and for a moment the world stops as he shakes his head and steps closer.

“oh johnny boy, what are we gonna do with you?” you feel yourself stiffen, as he implies that you are hard to deal with, and you see out of the corner of your eye that ringo and george have that look on their faces whenever you and paul get too close. not one of disgust, though sometimes you think that they believe something goes on between you and paul, but one of fond exasperation. 

you can’t help but smile, uneasily and embarrassed as the tension brimming underneath your skin slowly dissipates. it’s curious how a single look or the touch of his hand could his his mind. it is almost shameful the way he makes you feel, makes you feel like a kid messing up with a mother’s strong disapproval looming above your head. you’d never tell paul that though, he is adamant about not being compared to a girl.

his hand squeezes your arm and begins to pull you to your shared room all while keeping his eyes on you. holding you down and bring you back from the unsavory emotions you felt a mere moment ago.

it burns, the look he gives you, but you wouldn’t want anything else.

you vaguely hear him tell the other two that he’s off to calm john down and for a moment in your hazy, too warm trance you forget who you are. then it dawns on you, and the warmth that you’ve connected to happiness floods through your body, and despite your shaking hands you smile. it never ceases to amaze you how easily he can make you happy, and you for a brief moment grief for what will happen when you loose him.

you hear the door clink shut, and distantly feel the movement of his body laying down on one of the beds in the room. you tilt your head, and a intimately familiar scent hits you and you know it’s paul’s. to your right the bed sinks and shudders under new weight, and you feel your body get turned towards the warm body next to you.

“are you alright then?” he quietly speaks, the familiar drawl of his voice wrapping over your mind and eases your fears. you open your eyes that you don’t know we’re closed, and are met with a kaleidoscope of warmth. you think upon what he asked, and you consider replying with something snide or teasing, but the openness and fondness you find in paul’s face in front of you makes you reconsider.

slowly you nod your head, because you truly do feel better, the anxiety filled rage that had you shaking mere minutes ago is tightly packed back in your brain and you feel at ease. the urge to let him now, overtakes you and you open you mouth despite the uneasiness crawling in your stomach.

“thank you.” you whisper all too aware of how your mouth trembles and you watch paul’s eyes widen and then soften with fond amusement.

he looks at you with dark, wide eyes, assessing the situation with that beautiful mind of his and then he sighs and scoots closer, placing a hand on your face.

“you and your craziness are going to kill me one day love.” he murmurs and the light in eyes makes you feel assured that he isn’t upset and you smile uncharacteristically shy at him. “i know touring is rough, but don’t let it get to you. we’ve worked so hard for this and i know deep down you love it. i’m sorry that your having a bad day.” paul says, pressing his body against yours and you find yourself automatically curling in, an arm attaching to his slim waist.

“i can’t understand completely how you feel, but just know that i love you and i’m here for you.”

you inhale sharply, choking on the warm air surrounding you, and watch with wide eyes as he presses his forehead to yours.

“you shouldn’t have to carry all your worries to yourself ya know? you can lean on me. you are after all my partner.” he says with a smile inflicting his voice, and it’s the sheer kindness and tenderness that you find in his voice that makes you break.

you tell yourself to breathe, as your fingers begin to shake and you remove you hand from his waist, unwilling to let him see more of your weaknesses. his hand drops from your face and grips your hand, and you close your eyes and try to breathe.

you feel him come impossibly closers day you fold into him quickly, pressing your forehead into his shoulder with a quick sigh. he envelopes you almost automatically, his other arm wrapping around your back and his lips press into your hair. you shudder at the open, easy affection and for a brief moment heavy want sits at the pit of your stomach and it scares you.

he is so warm, and both soft and sturdy next to him, and you just want to lie here forever if it means you can hold hands with paul forever. the idea behind your newfound want isn’t so new, and you can’t recall when your subconscious started see him like this. once it’s there though, you find it easy to take, because if he ever were to want a man, of course it is paul.

your eyes open back up, and you pull back slightly just to look at his face. he smiles softly at you and the warmth you’ve been feeling turns red hot with affection. his hand reaches up to cup your jaw and with a twinkle in his eye, he pushes forward and presses his lips swiftly to your forehead.

unaware of what the kiss did to you, paul grins, light and easy, and once again you’re starstruck. that smile he wears is so genuine and bright that it hurts to see, and you silently thank whoever gave him to you.

what an honor you think it is to be in the presence of him and all his faults, all in the open for you.

you know instantly that you will do the same.


	2. Chapter 2

“second. it hurts to watch him. he shines. he’s brighter than the sun, he’s too beautiful for your eyes. it’s hard to look at him. it’s even harder to look away from him. you’re going blind.”

-

paul’s house was always a dichotomy of your own, and every time you stepped foot in it, you felt yourself immediately relax. your own home is nice and all, but cynthia has up and made it her own, and you can hardly stand to be there with her and julian breathing down your neck. paul however was the only person in his house, excluding jane who’s visits are rare and hurried. so the fact that he finds pails home more comforting than his own isn’t so surprising of itself. what is however, is how you’ve begun thinking to yourself that home is wherever paul is. 

it dawns on you that in your old age, you’ve become soft.

you are knocked out of your thoughts with paul returning from the kitchen with a cup of tea, which he sets next to you before sitting in his own chair. you watch with anticipation as he brings his guitar out to show you a new song. you it will instantly be a hit by the bright eyes paul sends your way, and as he starts to play you’re aren’t disappointed. 

jealous, and self deprecating however, is a whole ‘nother story.

the way he can effortlessly play and come up with songs makes your heart ache for a few reasons. you aren’t stupid. despite what people think of you and your nasty temper, there is a reason you are called the ‘smart one’. a result of such makes you fully aware of how he is passing you by in talent. you won’t lie to yourself and say that the boyish awe that he used to have for you, still has you will eventually learn, made you feel ten foot tall. however, watching the man in front of you, who is legions beyond the fifteen year old who followed you like a lost puppy is abundantly clear.

you watch him with a growing jealousy, glancing at the smooth movement of his fingers across his bass and you sigh. 

he hears you exhale and turns to you with a raised eyebrow, and a content look on his face. when you tilt your head and wave your hand dismissively, he smiles sweetly and it hurts your chest. he looks back at the notepad on his lap and hums, a soft jaunty tune that makes you perk your ears, and your hands itch for your guitar. 

still when you watch on, and he opens his mouth to sing, you become breathless. the ease in which he plays, and the cocky smirk playing on his lips reminds you so much of when you first met. you are taken back to the younger boy who resembled elvis, who strolled into your life with his upside down guitar and the enigma of his confidence and humility pulling you in at once. you remember being madly fascinated and despite yourself, all you could remember thinking was ‘i’m going to make him mine’.

you were, and still, too caught in your own panicked state of growing affections, did you realize that he was just as caught up on you.

when paul finishes his song, he looks at you with a sort of bashful grin, and the way he’s not meeting your eyes, makes your heart clench. you can never understand how he still gets so shy and awkward about things like this, when he knows full well he is bloody amazing. you on the other hand are to sharp with your words, insecurities making you lash out, and pretend until you dropped. it was tiring.

“well? what did you think of it?” paul asks tapping his guitar nervously, and for the life of you, you can’t understand why he is acting like this. even when he does get too humble for your taste, the self assurance that he normally has is nowhere to be seen. you wonder for a moment what the song really means to him, and what on earth you are missing.

“john?” you hear again and you realize that you haven’t looked up, or answered his question. you loom up just in time to see shutters fall over his eyes, and you frown, because what in the actual fuck is going on.

“it’s good, you know it is. i dunno why you’re ask me son.” your words come out sharper than intended, and you curse yourself for being such a prick.

paul, ever watching and all too aware of you in a way that makes your skin crawl, sighs and looks down at his hand for a moment before speaking.

“cut the shit love, i always ask for your opinion.” paul says, worry inflicting his tone. you look at him for a moment and it pisses you off, seeing the knowing look in his eyes.

“what do you want me to tell you? that it’s fucking amazing? didn’t think your ego needed another boost.” you spit out watching with delayed horror and his eyes narrow, an emotion you can’t place fluttering over his face before it disappears. 

“i could say the same for you, y’know? always going on about how your songs mean something and mine are just granny shit.” paul says, his tone inflected with annoyance and hurt, and it makes you laugh. of course he would put this on you, it’s you’re fucking fault as always. the bubbling insecurities that have built up the past few months are urging to be let loose, and with the joint they you shared with him still in your system, you go to speak ignoring the panic that flares in your chest.

“maybe i just think you’re fucking better than me and i don’t like feeling insignificant. don’t be daft and think this is all on me. if you knew me, you wouldn’t be a bloody show off.” you let out, eyes widening as your voice cracks at the end. paul remains unnervingly quiet after that and you continue look at your hands, shaking like a leaf. you must be coming down with something because you refuse to think that you’ve gotten worked up to the point of hysteria.

“john.” when you ignore him, paul makes a quiet hum and speaks again. “johnny, look at me.” paul says tone kinder than it was a minute ago, and the concern you hear in it makes you look up.

when your eyes meet his, you get mesmerize that despite the nerves you feel, they can’t distract you from how beautiful paul really is. the low light of the room casts dramatic shadows on his face and the purse of his lips, and slant of his eyes has you longing for a time where you could go up and snog the hell out of your best mate. his stare pierces through your soul, and the heat you feel from it leaves you breathless, despite the innocent worry that passes through his eyes as he tries to figure out what’s wrong. what’s amazing about what’s between the two of you is that you never have needed words, not in the way that most people need them.

were you any softer, you would have called yourselves soulmates. 

you wonder for the first time as you sit there in stilted uncomfortable silence, if this is how the girls get when paul centers their attention on them. see paul was a nice lad, easy on the eyes, and a simple wink or a few words of charm could get any girl going. but when he is completely focused on you and you alone, it’s overwhelming, a bright fire burning you from head to toe. absolute ruination, a promise to never be the same again.

you figure, you’ve always been broken, and you wouldn’t mind being burnt.

you snap out of your trance as he says something and when you look at him in confusion, he gives you such an awfully fond look that you glance away, grabbing the tea that’s gone cold in your silence.

“i said, stop being such a daft git.” when you narrow your eyes, sipping from the ceramic and clenching it so hard it’s going to break, he laughs and continues. “i mean, i dunno why you think that i’m better than you? my old self would be rolling right now if he heard what you said.” paul says half reminiscent and another half exasperated.

“he definitely would be shocked, the little bugger.” you voice roughly and watch yourself in a rather disconnected way stand up and walk towards paul. you shuffle forward, and for a short moment it seems as if paul is holding his breath with you. when you reach him you sit at his feet grasping his ankle for something to hold. you hear a cut off gasp from above you and you narrow your eyebrows trying to work out tonight’s events.

“you’re extraordinary paul, the whole world thinks so. why is it so hard to think that i would too?” you say quietly not meeting his eyes and looking down at the ankle in your hand with detached curiosity. his pulse jumped. “you were the one to teach me the guitar, all i knew were banjo chords. of course you’re better than me.” you say shocked at the sincerity spewing from your mouth, and you want to run and hide. it seems as if it shocks paul too, as discontented noise comes from above your head.

“you were the one who got me into music john.” paul says voice strained in a way you can’t place and you look up just to see him looking back at you. he’s always looking at you. “i mean, i’ve always loved music but god, i saw you and it was like my world changed. you and your buddy holly glasses.” he continues amusement tinting his voice and you smile for a moment before turning, dropping his foot back down and desperately changing the subject, because you didn’t accidentally spill your thoughts only for sympathy and memories to bite you in the arse.

“do you got a smoke on you?” you says wiggling your eyes to get your point across and you watch paul sigh with frustration and he mutters a quick curse, before conceding and reaching into his pocket. 

instead of handing you one, he puts both in his mouth and lights them, looking at you with intense wide eyes and you gulp. pursing his lips, he hands one to you, you grab it quickly, nerves making your hands shake and the thought of his mouth touching it makes you shiver like a schoolgirl.

quickly dampening that thought before it goes anywhere, you smoke quietly, watching the clock hanging on the wall tick by. inhale. exhale. you are so stupid. forget being the smart one, you are stupid and feelings always get in the way. feelings mean growing attached and people leave. that’s what it came down to really.

you were afraid paul was going to leave you, and god it would break you.

screw the fact that his talent is amazing, it brings in a good crowd and he makes good songs. or his pretty face, that makes you both insanely jealous and filled with want. if he continues to grow like this, he won’t need the beatles anymore. he won’t need you.

coughing on smoke, you bend over and wheeze. a hand wraps around your neck and squeeze softly before running up to your scalp. sighing you lean back as paul scratches your scalp and for a moment you think everything is fine and well.

“you’re an arsehole, y’know that?” paul whispers breaking the silence, and you agree quietly, not wanting to speak. it seems as if paul is fine with that as he tugs at tour hair slightly and you involuntary look at him again.

“you can be a right dick but you are so good john.” paul says emotions brimming from his eyes and you feel as if you are staring at the sun coming above the horizon. the look he gives you is so distinct, and for a moment you see the boy who was too small for his guitar but so at ease with himself, again. paul smiles at you, as if he know what you are thinking and he lets out a quiet chuckle.

“i knew from the moment i saw you, that you were going to change the world. and i instantly knew i would follow you.”

it dawns on you that the both of you are so caught up in looking up to each other, that you’ve failed to realize that the other might be doing it to. a cycle of two, forever circling each other as if they were a mere star and the other was the sun. equals even in jealousy and reverence.

“that’s ridiculous paul.” you choke out, the earnest mood that is in the air making you itch. “didn’t know you were such a girl.” you offer quickly, and watch with dismay as he pushes on as if he didn’t hear you.

paul arches an eyebrow at you and repeats his earlier question. “what do you think of the song?” the way he asks it, so casually is defeated by the intensity in his gaze and the tension in the hand still wrapped in your hair. why do you care about it so much? you think, in awe of his tenacity and equally annoyed on how awful the evening is going.

you lick your lips, and swear to yourself that paul’s eyes track it before you speak, voice hoarse and neck aching from the angle it’s at. “it’s good. doesn’t even need work does it?” you say almost to quiet for him to hear, but he does and you know he does because he hums in acknowledgement and you sigh. “who’d you write it for? cause it’s not about you son.” paul’s eyes take on a strange light and he almost looks sad when he answers, voice as quiet as him.

“it ain’t important to you is it? his expression softens. “you’ve never cared before.”

there are a thousand things you wish to say, and do when you study the nervous movement of his throat, but you hold an uncharacteristic restraint and shake your head. “it’s just a question mate.” paul looks almost disappointed by your answer and you track on despite yourself. “just seemed important, that’s all.”

he nods, and looks at his guitar and then at you, with a searching look before he smiles. “yeah it is.” he says almost airily before grinning at you. “good lyrics too, unlike someone i know.” he teases and you feel a pang in your chest but you smile back anyways.

you laugh, and watch his face relax from the tension you didn’t know was there. “yeah, that lennon guy. seems like he doesn’t have much to offer huh.” you say lightly but he tilts his head and rolls his eyes.

“hey i can talk shit about my partner but i won’t have any from you mister. he’s worth a lot and i don’t want no defamation.” paul quips easy and bright, and despite yourself you nod.

“okay.” you agree. “you know best.” 

paul nods, still in character, shakes a finger at you and leans closer. “of course i do. why else would i be his partner? his sorry ass would be lost without me.” you nod without thinking and watch as paul relaxes and clears his throat. “i reckon i’d be lost without him too.” paul confesses and your heart soars, elevated by this easy banter. heavy talk was never your strong suit, but in spite of yourself you find yourself believing the words he says.

“well i guess we’ll have to stick together.” you say offhandedly, and you watch him smile, one that you’ve seen only directed at you. he reaches out and grabs your hand, intertwining your fingers gently.

he smiles, a boyish air around him, and for gods knows how many times that night, you feel your heart seize. turning to look at him you rest your head on his need and squeeze his hand. you let yourself be soothe by the quiet, effortless air that only paul could bring and you feel your eyes close.

“that’s all i’ve ever wanted.” he says easily and you know it to be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not really sure about this one. the characterization seems a little off but i didn’t want to mess with it until it was ruined so here it is. hope you enjoyed anyways.


	3. Chapter 3

“third. your ears are tuned to his voice. you could pick him out in a sea of thousands. his voice makes pretty singers who sing pretty songs sound dull. his voice makes everything else sound ugly.”

-

you find it curious, the way your fans flock around him like moths to a light, their never ending shrieks of joy, hysteria more likely escaping their mouths. you wonder how many of them go to him because of his pretty doll like face, and long legs, and who are called to him for reasons otherwise.

you won’t deny that he has a certain pull around him, charming each and very person until they fall right into his trap. still, it bugs you that with all the fans your little group has acquired so many of them only come for his looks and charms. 

you could pin it down on jealousy, as you know far too well that you’ve always envied him, his effortless beauty and easy words of kindness, but you know that is not what it comes down to. despite your insistance that you don’t give a shit about what other people think of you, you do care a lot. and the only way to cover that up is with cruel words and an air of indifference. no one will get close to such a prick, and then you won’t have to care about someone just to lose them.

even so, in this case, your unwanted jealously of paul is not what causes your utter contempt for the screams you can hear echoing in your dreams.

you cringe when you hear the tired yet genuine laughter of paul from behind you, and all you want to do is jump out of the plane that’s currently trapping you in this hell.

“y’know they are super willing here. i bet a could just wink at one and she’d fall in bed.” paul says and you can hear the smug inflection of his tone and the cheesy grin that must be planted on his face.

“americans are just like that aren’t they? the last girl i had barely got into the room and she was already on her knees. great tits too, the birds here.” you here george input and you are brought back to the gangly, teen that lost his virginity to his band mates catcalls. despite yourself you smile and turn to input your own bit.

“i imagine that you don’t even have to get them off, they are so eager to be in bed with the lot of you that they wouldn’t care.” you say, twisting your neck around the back of the seat to look at paul with a wink. to his credit he doesn’t react too much, besides a roll of his eyes.

“that’s not nice is it? not really proper bed etiquette now is it johnny?” he shoots back and you shrug, unaffected by paul’s need to suck up to every one even in bed. 

“he kinda has a point though paul. i mean with your eyes and lips, birds go wild over that stuff.” ringo quips out of nowhere and you turn to see him raise from the dead, touring is awfully tiring lately, just to speak. “i reckon you could have your way with them and they’d still be all mad over you.” with that ringo sends the two finger salut and then closes his eyes, much to amusement of paul and george who start laughing.

“i suppose so. i’m just doomed to have hauntingly good looks for the rest of my life.” paul says jokingly, batting his eyelashes and george screams and pretends to faint.

you feel a sinking feeling in your stomach and you regret your earlier thoughts. maybe it was jealousy after all, just not the jealousy you thought it was, you think watching george and paul continue to do their little bit. who would of thought that you’d be jealous over some birds that won’t even see paul again.

with a sickening fervor to be noticed you blurt the single thought that’s been running through your mind the past few days. “i don’t know why the birds go so crazy after ye. it’s like fawning over another girl innit? you with your feminine qualities.” you say inflicting your voice higher and clasping your hands together. george and paul stop speaking and look at you with a mixed reaction.

george’s eyes widen and then narrow for a moment before he shakes his head. “bloody hell mate.” he mutters before standing and moving up a few rows to sit down. “i’m not dealing with this again.”

paul on the other hand freezes and then looks at him incredulously. “you what?” he questions and you grin meanly. damn it paul, you think, he always makes you incorrigible and uneasy.

“i’m just saying, if i was a bird, i wouldn’t want someone who was prettier than me. it ruins your confidence and girls don’t like that.” you say as if you were discussing the weather and not as if you were both lying to yourself and to him. you wished for a moment that you were someone else, someone who could say they wants to instead of nasty shit that spews from your mouth.

instead of giving you the reaction you want, which looking back you don’t even know what you were looking for, he shakes his head and with a final ‘okay, whatever you say’, he turns in his seat and closes your eyes.

you find yourself lost, and despite yourself you keep staring. tracing the contours of his profile and the way the dim sunlight highlights his features, and you want. 

you want so bad, you think with a heavy lump in your throat.

-

paul still seems pissed at you, for reasons you can’t comprehend and it is fucking annoying. there was a time when you were able to read him like a book, and knew exactly what he was thinking. now you find yourself on a distant island trying to peer through shitty binoculars to try and see him. and yet he still seems to know you, in an intimate way you long for. he is so far away, and yet incredibly close and it confuses you.

he seems to know you are thinking of him, as he catches your eye from across the room and gives you a closed off, but confused look back. with cheeks burning with embarrassment, you turn around like a fucking coward and stare at the mirror with a off-put sigh. you lazily press the cotton pad to your cheeks making sure that the stage makeup looks fine on your skin and then stand up, pre-concert nerves starting to make you shake. 

standing up you watch as the others get ready, and with a covert glance, you look at paul only to find him gone. confused you trace the room with your eyes and you begin to freak out, because you are on in five minutes and they can’t play without bass. well you could, but you certainly didn’t want to. paul is better anyways and you feel as though his fans wouldn’t appreciate you taking his job. funny how you feel as if you have to compete with your own fans for paul’s affection.

shocking you out of your panicked stupor you feel a hand brush your shoulder, and you nearly jump, holding back a frightened yelp. turning around you see paul with an amused glint in his eyes and his bass sitting at the crease of his hip. you half heartedly glare and he rolls his eyes back at you.

“you’re a right dick, but i don’t want us going out there in a bad mood.” paul sais eyes flashing for a brief moment, and you open your mouth to snap but you manage some amount of restraint.

“you know i didn’t mean it. i say dumb shit all the time, you should know that by now.” you plead looking at him with wide eyes and you make as if you are going down on your knees. hands grasp your shoulders and you see a dull flush creep up paul’s neck. huh, interesting.

“none of that now. i forgive you, just stop calling me a bird all the time okay?” he says and you laugh nonsensically much to paul’s chagrin. the world was a cruel one, giving paul the looks he has but making him a man. you recall many sleepless nights longing for something to change, and fervently wish for one of you to wake up one day a girl.

god knows you would have never held back if things were easier. but you’re a coward so you say nothing.

you smile despite it all, and give a little shoulder shrug. “i don’t think you’re a girl.” you look down his body, ignoring the warning signs in your head, and then look at paul’s face. “you’re definitely not one.” you wink, with a carefree and light air as if you were joking, and paul almost looks dejected for a moment before he laughs, bells ringing in your ears.

you freeze, and remember why you hate the fans who only like him for his looks. paul is so much more than that, his charms and cockiness set aside, he has the voice of an angel and every time you hear it you die a little death.

though, you figure dying to paul singing wouldn’t be a harsh way to go.

his voice is something out of a dream, something you would think of late nights in your adolescence, as your fingers laid heavy on your thigh and you pretended the heavy heat in your belly was your interest in music not the crooning, male voice echoing in your ears.

you close your eyes, pray to whoever will listen, and earnestly hope you never wake up.

in a blink of an eye, you are on stage, guitar in hands and feet bouncing to the music.

you find yourself singing words you can’t consciously recall and sooner than you think a new song begins.

a clear ringing note pierced through your chest, and the familiar ache you’ve grown accustomed to when it comes to paul begins to seep into your chest. you smile to yourself when he lets out a tuneful shriek of joy, his head shaking back and fourth with some sort of unknown glee. your chest tightens with a heavy sort of pressure and you think for a moment as the ache grows larger that you could right there on stage and you wouldn’t mind at all. you could ride the please try waves of his angelic voice all the way to heaven, or hell you think sardonically to yourself.

you’ll go anywhere paul will take you.

it’s funny you think, that you’ve have loved music for so long and yet never have you found a voice that so deeply resonated with you quite like his. 

“john?”

your eyes snap open again and your find yourself back in the dressing room, drenched with sweat and throat burning. you come back to reality with a sharp breath, too sharp in fact as you choke on it and keel over with a wheeze. smoker lungs ruin everything.

a hand pats you soothingly on your back and trails up to your neck giving it a hesitate squeeze before it disappears as quick as it came. you immediately miss the heat of his palm and you look up at him to see sweat trickle down his brow. you wonder how it would look in a different situation, his chest heaving and a moan leaving his lips as you suc-you feel your face burn and you wonder how many new things paul will make you do.

“you alright?” he questions and when you stand up and give a noncommittal shrug he goes on with a gesture of his hands. “we did good tonight.” he tries before a weird look crosses his face and you open your mouth to speak when he blurts our hurried and cracked, “your voice was fantastic tonight! like not that it never isn’t but tonight it was really good.” paul finishes lamely and his cheeks flame a violent red and you laugh despite yourself. even after all these years he looks at you with stars in his eyes, like you’re some guiding light that will lead him to prosperity.

you wonder when he will figure out he the one who is golden and bright, and is the center of your galaxy.

“dunno how you heard me over all the girls and what not but you’re were alright yourself.” you offer just to find comfort in the way his shoulders relax and he nods a little too quickly. you marvel in how you two are equals and yet he still vies for your attention. 

“that’s why we make such a great team.” he shrugs, far too casual for it to be meaningless and your throat tightens with heavy affection. “our voices suit each other so well.”

you wonder briefly what you did in your past life to have someone so bright in your life exist. 

paul smiles, as if levy to your thoughts and moves as if he were to stroke your hair, but the movement is aborted and he smiles, more of grimace then anything genuine. you want to fix this awkward air but he stands straight before you can speak a word and dismay sets into your heart. 

“well then, i’m off to see jane then.” paul says short and sweet, if sweet were an synonym for stilted, and before you can even think of complaining he is off, a pep in his step and a quiet, yet haunting hum following his wake. 

you watch pathetically as he packs up and leaves the room and you stare at your hands wondering when you got so pathetic. you kill to go back to the days where you were the cool one, and paul was the bumbling fool, over eager to impress. nothing makes sense anymore.

“i reckon cause you took too many pressure in hamburg, it wrecked your brain.” ringo offers from behind you, and you jump, turning to glare at the offender who let out a snicker at your despair.

“you calling me crazy?” you question, eyes narrowing as ringo holds his hands up soothingly.

“nothing of the sort. just thinking you sometimes overthink things y’know?” ringo says with a piercing knowing look and you find yourself reading into it with a sinking heart.

“what’s that’s supposed to mean?”

ringo gives you a look and then glances away taking in a deep breath as if readying himself, which frightens you and the fight or glee instinct is thrumming beneath your veins so heavily that your palms itch. you’ve always thought yourself a fighter, but deep down you know you’re a coward.

you’re prepared to run from the words that will follow.

“im going to say this once, and ignore that i said it afterwards but i think you need to hear this,” ringo begins, eyes not quite focused on you and rather the wall behind you and you already know what’s coming next. “i’ve see the way you look at him, and i’m not going to say anything about it, you do you y’know?” he says giving him a little shoulder shrug and look past you towards brian for a brief moment and you understand where he is coming from. “all i’m going to tell is you’re being a bit obvious mate. i don’t care what you think in that head of yours, but please try to be a bit more subtle.” when you frown, not quite as pleased as you thought you were going to be, yet still stuck between offended and scolded, ringo chuckles and taps your shoulder. “or talk to him. you never know what might happen.”

with that ringo kicks off from his perch on the wall and gives you one more gentle, kind look before walking to his own station to clean up. you on the other hand stay still, not knowing whether to go up and deny everything or be thankful ringo is the kind soul that he is. you think you should do the later, since denial would only make it worse, and you don’t need that headline in the paper. ‘beatle john beats up beatle ringo after heart to heart on feelings and illegal want towards fellow bandmate.’ yeah, no thanks.

still it makes you think what would happen if you told paul. you imagine disgust, a heavy rejection and the sudden ending of a friendship that means the world to you. no one gets you the way he does, and to lose him would mean losing a part of yourself. it’s worrisome, and confessing is immediately stuck off your list.

instead, you figure some distance will help until you can control yourself, and get rid of your feelings. it can’t be that hard, and paul won’t notice a thing. friendship saved, and crisis averted.

a small part of you thinks though of a scenario in which he doesn’t mind at all. takes you into his arms, and presses you into the bed. just the thought of it makes you feel hot and heavy, and you take a calming breath.

you find yourself worried for the future and what’s to come, and fearful for the losses that could occur were anyone to find out.

when one of your songs comes on in the radio set in the corner of the room and paul’s smooth voice comes barreling through your thoughts, you smile to yourself. despite all the insecurities your brain carries, you aren’t blind to the affection paul holds for you. it may not be the thing you feel for him, that word you dare not think for it will cement things and make it all too real, but you know the connection you have is unparalleled.

with him on your brain, and his voice in your ear you feel content, and you look at the ceiling wishing and hoping for a brighter, better future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit of a longer one, this one was difficult to write, and for that i kinda rambled. hope it didn’t affect the quality too much.
> 
> anyways hope you enjoyed and that all of you have an amazing day.


	4. Chapter 4

“fourth. the color of his eyes is blue enough to drown in. he is turning you into a clichéd love-wrecked being. you’re drowning, always sinking. down, down, down.”

-

it’s ridiculous how easily you find yourself becoming a wreck of a human, a simpering cliche when you’re around him. you have long accepted months ago that you felt something for him, but the idea is still so foreign to your brain, and it convulses in sheer terror while your your heart longs for more. you’ve admit there is a deeply ingrained fear there, such a prominent piece of your childhood that has you feeling guilty thinking of the milky white of his thighs and the easy sunny bright smile that shines at you so vividly. you find yourself rolling over in the middle of night, fingers longing for a long, heavy body and you are met with disappointment in the shape of the softer, supple flesh of your wife. 

it’d be easier you figure, if paul was just an odd exception, a mate you found particularly fit and that was that. you think, knowing a guy is attractive is much different than tossing one off in the studio’s bathroom because your mate’s shirt lifted an inch and you got so horny you couldn’t breathe.

you also think that you were doomed from the start. that when his piercing eyes caught yours that hot summer day and you found yourself intrigued, you should of ran far away. but so it goes, and you dealt with the casual attraction for paul, and kept it tucked in the abyss of your mind, hoping it never saw day of light. 

but fate is not your friend, and life has never been kind. 

you found yourself longing for his attention, going out of your way to seem larger than life, cooler than you were. you battled your insecurities and put yourself out there because god you’ve never wanted someone to be your friend as much as him. and before you knew it, your stupid brain decided to amps it’s hormones and your attraction was back tenfold.

you dealt with it though, like you deal with all things too real for your mind to handle, through copious lewd jokes and a lot of self loathing. because apparently other people could be queer and you’d be fine with it, brian is incredibly dear to you. but as soon as someone, even yourself, even thinks of calling you queer, things got ugly. 

and no one is crueler to you than yourself.

but in the past months, both after ringo’s little pep talk, and the knowing looks from him and george, you’ve come to terms with the idea. long gone are the nights where you would drink to block out the voice screaming in your head that you were sick and vile. you find the acceptance soothing, the weight on your shoulders lifted and your worries are temporarily soothed. are you completely stoked that you can’t be content with cynthia and the idea that birds don’t get you going sometimes? no, but you aren’t complaining. they are two different creatures, paul and girls, and you’ve realized you are lucky to covet them both. 

especially paul. he is after all, your other half.

-

you and the boys are somewhere in australia, courtesy of brian who insisted that the four of you needed a break before you released your next album. to say that you all were stoked would be an understatement, and you remember the shaky excitement in your veins as you kissed cynthia goodbye before climbing onto the plane. 

the sun is beaming down on your necks and the bright vivid joy that is in the atmosphere is enough to make you happier than you’ve been in weeks. you find yourself content with how things are now, the groups music doing fantastic in the states, and enough money rolling in that you could retire now and never work a day in your life. who’d of thought touring had its perks?

you sit down on one of the lounge chairs, shades adorned on your face and your guitar perched on your lap. you strum lazily watching the pool water reflect the suns rays, searching for inspiration for your next hit. as you idly hum some unfinished tune, you watch brian settle beside you, his own eyes on the boys currently running towards the pool. you too, find yourself watching, eyes catching the blur of dark hair as it leaps into the poil, and a fond smile settles on your lips.

paul turns at that moment and catches your eye. he smiles and beckons you to the water with a giddy sort of wave and you shake you head. eying the lack of shirts on the three of them, you are made more aware of the long sleeves covering your skin, and you grimace, thinking of the pale ugly thing that is your body and you wish for a moment to sink into the earth. 

they aren’t the most fit, you figure, eyeing them up and you picture your own body with an odd sort of reluctance. you reckon your body isn’t awful compared to theirs, which makes the strange, uneasy pull in your stomach feel even worse. something is wrong with your head you figure, the sick crawly feeling that you get sometimes when you eat can’t be normal. but you digress, and with a firm mental shake you stand up ignoring the strange look brian gives you as you stroll over to the pool.

you sit down at the edge, fingers clenched on the edges of your sleeves, and you slip in, flinching at the coolness of the water.

“ah there’s the lad! we were wondering if you were coming in.” ringo says, eyes squinting against the sun as he tries to look at you.

“i didn’t want to and all, but with your lot i figured i had no choice.” you quip back almost mindlessly, trying not to stare at your mate’s bare skin. you wonder how he is so easily confident with himself, and then you figure it’s ringo, he’s always been down to earth.

“probably cause we plan to drown your ugly mop of a head, it was your intuition kicking in there.” george says lazily from where his body is floating a few feet away. you flip him the v and he grins back, his smile boxy and light.

“i told you not to tell him george! now he knows.” paul says snidely and george responds with a snicker, splashing water in paul’s direction. it ends up hitting ringo instead and with an offended hum, ringo paddles his way towards george who’s eyes widen.

“i didn’t mean it!” he frantically starts swimming away only for ringo to grab him dunk his head under water. when george emerges, with a glint in his eyes, you scoot further away and sit on the stairs near the corner of the pool.

paul makes a disgusted sound and shakes his head at them, and makes his way over to you. he sits above you on the concrete and dips his feet in the pool with sigh. “crazy people, the two of them. don’t they know you can horseplay in the pool? that’s how you drown.” he inflected a posh tone to his voice and you give a chuckle, turning to look at him.

you agree, looking at the easy posture of his body and the content smile on his face. you know a thing or two about drowning.

“i reckon that’s why we’re here, to watch over the little children.” you raise an eyebrow and look at the two currently splashing the shit out of each other. get a load of those dorks. but it’s good to seem them happy, george especially, with his tendency to brood and his quiet nature. acting his age for once wouldn’t hurt him, so you let them be with a fond smile.

when paul stays quiet you look at him and see him staring back at you. you raise an eyebrow, vaguely uncomfortable and you are made aware of the thin shirt sticking to your body like a second skin. 

“take a photo it will last longer.” you snap half jokingly, and for a horrifying moment it looks like paul considers it. he seems to snap out of it though and with a hand he gestures at you with a frown.

“whatcha wearing that for? it’s bloody hot out here mate?” he then points to the sun like you’re stupid and you roll your eyes.

“that’s why i’m in the pool paul. this is my swimming-gear.” you say slowly as if he were a child and he slaps your arm half way to annoyed.

“i know that! i’m talking about the shirt you got on, what’s up with that?” paul questions and your stomach drops. damn, you thought he’d leave it alone. you look at him and in a half jealous, half turned on sort of way you leer at his chest watching him flush under the bright sun. huh, you could get used to seeing that. ignoring the dirty thoughts that pop up into your mind you continue.

“well all of us can’t be pretty like you can we now?” you say and gesture to paul’s body with a lazy wave. you try not to notice the dark trail of hair leading in his shorts, and the way his swim-gear sticks to his thighs. “don’t think everyone hasn’t notice you’ve been working out lately, it shows.” your gaze catches the lean muscle of his arms and avert your eyes, before you started being completely obvious. you look at george and ringo who both catch your eye and as if they were connected, they both give the same knowing smirk. you look away face hot with embarrassment. in your next life you decide to not make friends, what a load of good they do you now.

daring to look back at paul, you find him frozen and red as a tomato. what the actual hell. 

“what’s wrong with you today? you ask, snapping your fingers in front of him and he jolts, looking at you with wide eyes. 

“nothing, what’s wrong with you then?” he shoots back glaring at your shirt, and you sigh, confused and wanting all at once. you scoot up slightly and your arm leans against his thigh with a gentle press. when you feel his muscles jump, you turn to look at him with narrowed eyes.

“are you high without me?” you question looking at his disappointingly clear eyes. you figure he’s not, but perhaps he found a new drug and has been holding out on you. you know that if you found some magical drug, he’d be the first one you’d want to try it with.

he’s the only one you want to try a lot of things with.

“what? no! i’m just annoyed at your stupid shirt! it’s not even working, the bloody thing is practically see through!” paul exclaims, almost angry and you internally try to figure out why the fuck he seems so upset over a shirt. then it dawns on you what he said and you panic look down to see that it is in fact rather see through, and with dismay you look back at paul.

“why the fuck are you so worked up over a shirt?” you mutter, the urge to throw up heavy in your throat. he can see you stupid body and he probably is laughing at you internally. of course the reasonable side to you knows that it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, and you want to tell your odd insecurities to shut the fuck up.

paul sighs, and scratches his nose, an odd tick of his that you find oddly endearing. though you typically find everything he does endearing so your thoughts on the matter are probably a bit biased.

“just take it off, please john.” he requests oddly somber and with a confused huff you grab the shirt over your head and tug it off. you hear a strangled gasp from above you and you turn your body so you’re facing him, but you keep your eyes averted from his face.

“better now your highness?” you say, the words not coming out as sharp as you would’ve liked. the silence is stifling and just when you make to get up and jump off a bridge, a hand brushes your shoulder.

startled you look up and paul looks at you oddly, an emotion you can’t place but you get the feeling it’s oddly vulnerable for a situation like this.

“much better. thank you.” paul says quietly, and you feel his eyes trace your chest. you ignore the urge to cover up, and you lean back head resting against the hard concrete and the soothing warmth of paul’s thigh.

“you know,” he starts from above you and your chest clenches from the tone of his voice. it sounds so soft and helplessly endeared, and it gives you pointless hope for things you can never have. “i think you look fine. like, i don’t know what’s going on in your head but you look good. with or without a shirt.” he says almost shakily, as if reveling some well kept secret and you long to ask him more but before you can tears well up into your eyes. you turn your head so that he can’t see and you gasp for air as your lungs begin to constrict. you wonder why such a few kind words can make you go off like this. even so, john lennon doesn’t cry, not even in front of his best mate.

so you inhale the sweet, warm air and let yourself shake instead. a hand brushes through you hair soothingly and you hear a quiet little hum, but you close your eyes, your heart too heavy to think of music right now. the quiet atmosphere and paul’s hand warm and soothing on your head makes you calm down, eyes willingly opening back up to find his eyes closed, head swaying to some silent tune. you marvel at the effortless beauty he has, the australian sun doing wonders for his skin. 

you both sit there for minutes, hours maybe, and you find solace in his silent but calming company. when you feel your body begin to get to wrinkled, you sit up slowly, paul’s hand sliding down to your waist as you get out of the pool. you control yourself, and ignore how right his hand feels and you turn and smile at him.

“thank you.” you say simply, voice hoarse with emotions you can’t convey and paul shakes his head.

“it’s nothing. just happy you’re okay.” with that he slowly stands up, and with a brush of his hands he sets off, leaving you alone with your thoughts. you find yourself elated for some unknown reason, and it dawns on you in a slow, pleasant sort of way. you find in a unsurprising revelation that you’re in love.

with a giddy smile, you look at the sky and let the years of memories flash through your mind. you realize that you’ve been falling for a long time, and this revelation is your mind accepting things for what things are. of course love isn’t always sunshine and flowers, and you know sooner or later you will have to come to terms with unrequited love.

but for now, the pain can wait, you are too happy to let it get to you now.

-

you lied to yourself. love fucking sucks. screw whoever came up with the idea, and double screw your brain for producing the right chemicals to make you feel such a thing. the glow of your revelation lasted a few days before it hit you that paul will go back to jane and his endless stream of girls, and you’ll be left pining like a lovesick fool. it hurts and you don’t like having unpleasant feelings so you push them away and carry on marginally sadder.

the group got back a day or so ago, and you were immediately pushed into the studio to record. you would say that you weren’t happy about it, but you’ve written some new songs and you figure they wouldn’t do half bad.

the only problem is paul. paul is great and dandy, but with everything that’s gone on, you can’t help but find yourself waiting for the other shoe to drop. you find yourself fearing you’ll let something slip and he’ll freak out, and walk out never to be seen again. it’s one thing to have a hard on for a mate, and another to want to hold hands with him and lay in bed together. of course you’ve wanted this for a long time, but you were able to fool yourself into thinking it was just some sort of strange friendship where you wanted to occasionally fuck your bandmate. you never thought you’d find yourself feeling things other than some illegal lusting.

and on top of that, paul has a glow to him, the pink on his nose and newly tanned skin making him look lovely and refreshed. vacation always looks good on people, but it’s something else on paul. 

earlier this morning you had slipped into the studio quietly, unwillingly to talk to anyone and you saw him standing there. he hasn’t noticed you, eyes and hands focused on a heavy tune coming from his bass. it was find by you, and you used the moment to gawk at his figure and pine pathetically in the doorway. you’ve always been a fan of art, and as you look at his face, eyes closed in bliss and long fingers caressing his guitar, you are in heaven.

art is meant to be watched like this, far away and never to be touched. people like you ruin people like him. though you know deep down you’ve already ruined him, and your heart aches for the boy with the wide eyes and innocent heart.

he is something of an enigma to you, constantly defying rules and setting his own standards of life. paul has always had an effortless boyish beauty, and it’s easy to tell how easily girls, and you let yourself in the solace of your mind, boys fall for him. but he also has the long dark eyelashes, the puppy dog eyes, and the bowed lips that are so feminine but so him it hurts. you think that if he were a girl, he wouldn’t be half the looker he is today. you are oddly happy that paul is a guy, and you don’t let yourself delve into why that might be. he is beauty and grace, the gentle arch of his wrist as he smokes, lips pursing to blow out a perfect ring, and you are enthralled. the innocence of his features is sweet and charming, but the easy sensuality he possesses with a movement of his hips and the deep tones of his voice gets you going.

he is a god, you think, angelic in manners and devilish in his actions, and you have no other choice but to fall on your knees and worship him. you know you are lucky to do so.

the tune he is creating is starting to take shape, and you can picture it now, the way he will perform it. his head thrown back and his fingers sly on the fretboard. you are lucky enough to be a position where you can immortalize things in your lyrics, and you look at him and you see the beginnings of a never forgotten song.

“what are you doing just standing there, come here.” a voice interrupts your daydreams and you snap out of it only to see the dreamy hazel of his eyes up close and personal. you let yourself long for a moment before you compartmentalize your feelings and give a shaky smile.

“you sure? seems like you did all the work for us already.” you say with a teasing smile, and paul rolls his eyes turning to write something down.

you set your guitar down and walk over to him, and you want more than anything to place your hand on the small of his back. feeling reckless you do, and when paul does nothing but lean into it, you smile and peer over his shoulder and read what he is writing. the lyrics read of something sad, and sorrowful, and the clear pining in them makes your heart ache. you wonder who paul wrote it for, and you are reminded of the song he sang to you at his house months ago. you wonder if these oddly intimate songs are about jane, and if not, who?

paul looks at you expectantly and you come up with something off the top of your head, your mind still whirling with what ifs.

“looks good. but you should change the notes there to lower so that when the chorus hits it will have a more dramatic rise.” you offer and he looks at you momentarily and nods, scratching a few things out before turning to face you with a smile.

he looks at you openly now, a loose smirk playing on his lips and his eyes are half-lidded, eyelashes brushing against his skin. his eyes glint with the studio light and you find yourself lost in their color.

“do you know when george and ringo are coming in?” he asks and you shrug, still drunk on the alcohol in your system and the look of his eyes. you recall that you two were supposed to come in early to write somethings and you tell him so and he hums with acknowledgement.

“take a picture it’ll last longer.” paul says, and distantly you hear yourself saying that days ago and you will your eyes.

“what are you talking about?” you say helplessly, and paul stares at you with a searching look before he chuckles lowly, like thunder before a storm, and you wonder if drowning from love is too cliche of a song.

“i dunno, you tell me.” he says lightly, as if knowing more but not wanting to say it, and you panic because paul’s intuition is remarkably good. but you force yourself to calm down, and you play stupid.

“tell you what?” you say redundantly, and you cringe hearing the airy quality to your voice, as if you’ve been singing and not the man in front of you, who moments before was singing his heart out to lyrics that made you so reluctantly hopefully.

he stops and looks at you, as if you were the one that was confusing, a puzzle that hasn’t been completed. “don’t you know?” he starts eyes flashing like lighting, and a clear warning in his eyes. 

you have never been sane so you don’t follow it and you heed on.

“i’m lost mate, what are you getting at?” you ask, warning signs flashing left and right, and you watch with dismay as his face falls.

there is a distinct vulnerability in his face, no longer disguised by mask he puts on for the press. he is a walking contradiction and despite your growing apprehension and confusion, you are lost at his sea. you feel the urge to tell him what he’s been asking for, and you almost ask him directly, but the fear of disappointment is all too real. you figure out this is part of being in love with someone who can’t love you back, the constant fear of letting yourself slip controlling your every thought and move.

you long to let go and let yourself drown, falling eternally into his warmth. hope is a dangerous thing, letting you think he would let you touch that warmth.

the sickening truth of it slams against your lungs, and spits your back on to the ocean shore. the waves roar in your ears, and rocks pierce through your lungs. and he is standing right behind you, daring you to jump off the cliff.

love is such an ugly thing, it turns sane men mad. but paul is a siren and you are willing to crash and fall for him like the many before you.

it’s only fitting that you should go out in style.

with a cleared throat, you gesture to your guitars. “shall we?”

“shall we what?” he says quietly with too much emotion to handle and you smile despite yourself.

“i have a song to show you, and i need a bass player to help me out.” you offer and ignore the confusing disappointment in his eyes.

“okay, sure.” paul says and visibly shakes himself off.

you both grab your guitars and sit across from each other, knees touching, and it feels like you only have eyes for each other.

it feels right.

you sing lazily strumming the melody on your guitar, and his eyes track your fingers, head nodding to your voice. when you finish he looks up at you with a twinkle in his eye and a devilish smile on his lips. you know instantly you are doomed and find yourself ready to crash.

“it’s good, i have an idea for the music though that i think would work out better.” he says tone confident and you can’t find it in yourself to get mad. this is after all, paul at his best, self assured and ready to lead. so you nod and look at him with a questioning raise of your eyebrow. he looks shocked at your complacency before grinning at leaning in to speak. “you’ll have to follow me though, don’t know if your old man fingers can handle it.” he teases and you hear yourself laugh, happy in a way only he can make you.

“okay.” you agree and he begins, a swing of his head and the tap of his foot. when he finds you frozen, he stops and looks at you insistently.

“come on with me.” he commands and you without hesitance, follow.

when you crash moments later, you don’t regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow this is definitely longer than planned. i hope the characterization is okay. also i’m sorry for not including george and ringo much, i swear i adore them! thank you for reading and the comments that you have left, they mean a lot. :)


	5. Chapter 5

“fifth. you know him. you love him. through a thousand lifetimes, across millions of stars, you’d find him, you’d never leave him. you love him, till death do you part.”

-

love, love, love. if you could, you’d buy an endless amount with it. but you have learned all too well that love is not free and it does not come easily. it takes and takes, and makes you hope and dream of things you didn’t before, and then it’s gone. like many things, it is too fickle of a thing for people to long for and yet human nature fails you once more, and you want so, so badly.

it’s not up to you though, choosing who you love and how much you love them. if it were you’d be with a long legged model, the girl so heavily infatuated with you that she’d never leave. instead you find yourself pining after him, an untouchable star, firm in his own reality and too bright to touch. you wouldn’t have chosen to dream of pale thighs wrapped around you waist, or a snatch of dark hair laying in your bed, doe eyes looking up at you with open affection and pursed lips. nor did you ask for the way he consumes your every thought, until you no longer feel like two separate people.

you never asked for him to be your soulmate, and you certainly never asked for it be returned. 

it’s devastating the way he looks at you, so awe filled and fond beyond compare, and it hurts so bad. the way he so earnestly tries to capture your attention, the face of his younger self superimposed over his own, wide eyes and so desperately eager to be your friend. it hurts that he needs you like this, your friendship clearly important to him, and it’s made even worse when you need him even more. you curse yourself for being his friend, and then curse yourself once more for even thinking of a life without paul.

life before paul was achingly dull, and life without him would be even more so. 

you love him. you love him more than life itself, more than the air that inflates your lungs or the comforting weight of a guitar in your hands. music brought you together, and for that you are thankful, but it wasn’t until he entered your life that it became something worthwhile. music was amazing and fantastic, but with him it was gorgeous and ethereal, with endless possibilities with him by your side. he taught you to love it in a way that is all consuming, and surrounds your every thought.

along the way, you learned to love him too.

but he is too far above you, a precedent of firm heterosexuality that you dare not hope for acceptance. you aren’t daft, and you figure he will quietly support you, if he knew but you also know your friendship would change. after all who sleeps in a bed with a mate that admitted he wants you in more ways that one? not many, that’s for sure.

but despite this all, your love sick mind remains infatuated with the idea of holding his hand and kissing him breathlessly. you’d die a happy man if you felt his hands on your skin, and you long for it more than anything.

you love him in a way you never thought possible. of all the silly love songs, your life tops the bill. you hear playful melodies when he smiles at you and a bitter, sorrowful crooning as he wraps an arm around jane or sends a pretty wink at a bird in the stands. jealousy consumes you these days, making you a bitch, and it ignores the fact that you have no right to be jealous. paul isn’t yours, and your stupid brain can’t handle the thought of anyone else being his instead.

but life goes on, and you dare not confess, ignoring the fervent looks george gives you and the sad pitying ones ringo shoots at you. even brian has caught on, with a discomfiting grimace and a look of quiet acknowledgement. t’s better this way, having this bright partnership with him that makes you feel connected to someone in a way you never thought you needed before. you need him desperately, and if this is all you are going to get, you will milk it for all it’s worth.

when he smiles that fond smile only meant for you, you know that you will die for this, and so it goes.

-

you’ve haven’t been this fucked up in a whole, and you curse your brain for turning you into a insecure pile of mush. figures when you have feelings that you can actually explain, you drink until you can’t speak.

you’ve drunken yourself under the table, or under the shitty hotel couch to be precise, and you hear yourself groan distantly as your stomach dies and your heart aches with an incurable pain. you wish to be reborn as a rock, so that you never feel again and you could live life in solitude. you hear an agreeing groan from a voice, most likely george, echo back and you smirk in the others pain. at least when you are upset beyond fix and too fucked to stand, and the others will pull themselves down to be with you. you remind yourself to be grateful for it when you aren’t so melancholic and you roll over looking at the drab celling with a frown.

a glass of water suddenly appears by your hand, and you peer at it slowly, distrustful of its origin. you sluggishly sit up grasping the cup with lead like fingers and stare at it half-blind. blearily you wonder if it’s a figment of your imagination, something your brain conjured up with pity. you figure not as you see a pale hand wrap around your wrist to help you hold the cup.

“you should probably drink this, don’t want you dead in the morning.” the voice says and despite the skittish quality to it, your hearts still soars for a brief moment. then you remember you are wallowing in self pitying and you groan despairingly. 

you wish it were a hallucination, but you know your subconscious would never be this kind.

with a weary sigh, ignoring the lidded, dark eyes watching you, you lift the glass with a shaky hand and you bat away the hand trying to assist you. water spills on your pants as you bring it to your lips, breath quickening as nimble fingers wrap around yours with a smooth gesture. you glare the best you can at paul, and he looks at you unimpressed and you give up, taking a sip of the water. you smack your lips in distaste, and you look at the water with annoyance. bloody americans ruins everything, even water.

water slips down your chin and he catches it with his thumb and rubs it away with a soft, gentle touch.

maybe it’s the exhaustion of touring catching up, or the intimacy of the gesture pulling at your weak heartstrings, but the tenderness catches you off guard and you feel unwanted tears prick at your eyes.

you gasp, lungs dying for air, and his hands disappear from your own. you panic irrationally thinking he’s leaving, but your mind is soothed when he sits next to you, elbow pressing into your side.

carefully and most like deliberately, the annoying sod, keeps his gaze turned away, and it gives you the illusion of privacy as you control yourself and rub at the tears trying to fall from your eyes. to spite you, it doesn’t work and your vision blurs as you let out a mangled sob. you furiously blink back the tears, pissed at yourself for letting your guard down and equally pleased at the kindness he is showing you. your northern ways get in the way of everything, and you find yourself surprised in how your brain doesn’t care, tears falling freely from your face.

“damn it, don’t know what’s in the alcohol tonight.” you joke weakly, your chuckle coming out wetter than you’d have liked. he doesn’t look at you, but he passes you his stupid handkerchief and you despite your rotten mood, feel your love him stretching your mouth into a pale grin.

it scares you how much he knows you, gives you what you need without asking. knows that despite your dark thoughts and oddities, there is good in you that you find hard to find. that’s what nearly seven years of an unprecedented friendship will do to you.

with a thankful tap to paul’s wristbone you grasp the handkerchief and wipe you face, burning it so that you don’t have to see what occurs next. it’s scares you that you can’t hide from him, and you wonder if he knows. he has to know that you love him, and you think with a pained thought as to why he hasn’t said anything.

the silence breaks with a quiet gasp of yours and he speaks up, eyes looking straight ahead. “why do you do this to yourself?” he says quietly, and you stare at him through blurry eyes, heart aching and a voice screaming at you to tell him. you avert your eyes and look at your hands, and distantly realize they are shaking. his words grasp your fears and you feel a wave emotions pass through you. burning hot anger, bone deep sadness, cursed disappointment and for a moment crippling fear.

you want to cry. you want to scream and curse his name, pointing fingers as if he were the one to blame. he didn’t make you like this, you fell and now you must deal with the unfortunate consequences. 

this is a dangerous topic, and he knows it, the tense shoulders and white knuckles giving away his otherwise calm facade. it makes you long for simpler times where you didn’t feel so despondent, and the two of you had no tension lying between you ready to burst.

but he knows you now, in a way that a few years ago he’d be too afraid to encroach and lose you. funny how he became so self assured and level headed and left you a withering mess.

it pisses you off and despite the tears still threatening to fall you snap. “i can do what i want, stop fucking being such a mother hen.” your heart is bitter from unresolved want and you regret being mean, but lately it’s all you can do without becoming vulnerable. it’s ironic even now that you’re afraid of showing yourself despite breaking down in front of him mere moments ago.

he ignores you and steadies on staring at the glass in his hands, liquor dark and swirling much like you at this very moment. “you can’t keep doing this, you’re the group’s pillar johnny.” he adds quietly, aware of the two pairs of drunk eyes staring at you two from across the room. were in a better state, you’d tell them to piss off, but you let it go, and let them watch. you’re used to being watched, privacy is a foreign concept to you, so you let them see this vulnerable conversation, too drunk to care. 

the lack of sleep, the months, years really, worth of pining endlessly, and nothing in your stomach make something twist in your chest imagining the tone of accusation in his voice, and you feel the last of your sanity slip away with a bitter, splintered giggle.

“i know. and i don’t care.” god what a fucking lie. the words come from the pits of your stomach, vile and cruel, and all too telling of your inner turmoil. you feel guilty, he’s only trying to help you, and your head snaps up to stare at him with wide eyes. despite your growing horror, he regardes you cooly, eyes remarkably clear for the drinks he’s downed, and you are reminded of why the two of you work so good. he’s the unmovable object to your relentless unstoppable force. soulmates, your mind helpfully includes, and you want to bash your brain in.

“so then you should know going on a self destructive rampage won’t do you any good.” he says eerily calm, eyes piercing through your soul, and despite yourself you find it hot. his eyes swirl like a storm, taking you in, only to push you back with a terrifying clarity. “so when you end up collapsing, we do too.”

the word have no edges heat to them and yet they strike you just the same, disappointment licking at the corner of your mind. you’re failing them, failing him. 

and you know, god you are full aware of how your recent behavior has affected the band. despair crawls in your throat, and you wish you were someone else. you know that the endless drinking has done you no good, made you cruel and useless, tapes wasted as you go off in the studio much to the chagrin of brian and george martin. you witness it as every shortcoming, every flaw, every insecurity of yours falls out and gets bared to the world. it reminds you that you’re no good, and don’t deserve them. certainly don’t deserve him.

all at once your ability to write and create music seems so insignificant. when compared to your faults and the way you’ve been acting, a right fool, you feel so unworthy. you recall a time when you’d try you best to be so good, and do everything you could to impress the boys. to get paul to look at you with an impresses grin and the feeling that you just made a hit song. you miss the feeling, and you curse every feeling that has incapacitated you recently.

“god john, you’re so stupid.” you hear paul say shakily, and you look at him with confused eyes.

it dawns on you slowly, in an awful revelation that you’ve been thinking out loud. anxiety rises in your throat and you close your eyes, fuck.

your breath catches in your throat when his hand meets your own, his thumb dragging over your knuckles. you ignore the choir that seems to sing at his simple touch, and try not to fall into how right his hand feels in yours. “sometimes you are appallingly stupid, y’know that?” paul says tenderly, a juxtaposition to the sharp words and his hand squeezes your with a gentle ease that makes you long for more. he makes you feel so fragile, something worth paying attention to, and you hate the way he makes you fall apart at the seams. 

“i don’t know the reason as to why you’ve been such a prick lately, and god knows i’ve tried to help but you haven’t responded.” his voices wraps around you body and your eyes close, afraid of what you feel and what he would see if he looked into your eyes. “but get this into your thick skull, okay?” he says tone sharp, but not mean, and you shudder from the force of it. you wonder what he will say, what he has seen, what he will do.

you wonder if he knows more than what he says, and the ache of the thought makes you shut down immediately. 

you turn to him, the urge to see him overcoming your fears, and you feel struck down by the raw vulnerability in his gaze.

“it will kill us to lose you. it will destroy me.” he whispers as if disclosing a secret and you find yourself leaning in, eyes caught on his own. “so whatever has you so despondent, it’s not worth it. not when you get like this.”

you laugh despite it all, the misunderstanding making your head throb. “god i’m not destroying myself, trust me. i’m just being selfish and i’m learning to deal with it.” you say lamely, not knowing how to voice it, and for a moment you wish to say it aloud. i love you, and it’s killing me. do you love me back? please love me back.

paul leans back, looking strangely gutted as if you had punched him in the stomach. “what do you mean by that?” he asks, fierce in a way you can’t recognize and you feel as if you could say it here and be done with it.

you feel flayed, opened and pinned to your spot, and you open you mouth to say it. a strange courage wants to wrangle the confession out of you and you tremble from the force of it.

“paul, i..” you voice, trying to word it in a way that could convey your every thought and wish. he looks on at you with a fervent look on his face and in that moment you know he knows. he has to, in the way he looks at you with odd, fearful eyes. in that moment you lose your bravery, and you snap your eyes away, a lump caught in your throat. 

brian unconsciously saves you by asking everyone if they want some food, and you answer mindlessly, heart beating against your chest. out of the corner of your eyes, you see paul staring at you, eyes narrowing and a frown marring his pretty features.

you can’t handle it, and you stand up and run away, ears unwilling to hear what he is saying to your retreating back.

despite all your love songs, you don’t have the nerve for this. not when all you can see is it ending bad.

so you run, run like you always do.

-

to say it’s weird between the two of you, would be an understatement and it hurts you in a way you can’t properly convey. musically you guys are fine, still producing songs at record pace, but the air is awkward and stilted between you two. you ignore him the best you can, and paul seems pissed off about it, so he starts ignoring you too. but it’s for the best, because you are already ruining things by almost saying it, and you don’t want to be there for the aftermath if you end up actually saying it. 

brian seems absolutely done with the two of you, and you find yourself pulled to the side one day at the studio, because he wants to talk. you’re not dumb, and you know what he’ll say, but you concede and follow him, too tired to complain.

he fixes you with a withering stare, and in that moment he seems so much older than you, and you roll your eyes at him.

“come on eppy, what’s got your knickers in a twist?” you say, forcing a smile, and he stares unimpressed and vaguely sad. dropping your grin, you look at the floor, not willing to deal with the awkward silence.

“what’s going on with you?” he eventually asks, and despite you knowing what he was going to ask, you jump and look at him with narrowed eyes.

“what’s it to you? nothing wrongs with me.” you insist waving a hand around yourself as if that proves your point. brian sighs and leans against the wall, pressing his hands into his suit jacket.

“remember what you told me in barcelona?” he says quietly, and you freeze recalling a stilted conversation in the summer heat. brian continues with an unaffected air about him, even though you can see the nervous tick of his throat. “i had offered you something, and you said you were waiting for someone to give that to. that you were flattered, but you didn’t want me to be your first.” brian says causally, and you look at the way his eyes crease with regret. “now i understand your feelings on the matter, but if you aren’t going to ever try with him, then what was the point in saying no to me?” he asks and you snap, annoyance surging up to sharpen your words.

“maybe i just didn’t want to fuck you! have you ever thought of that? i’m not a bloody queer brian! i was just making up an excuse that’s all.” you say, proud of the lie that slips from your tongue, and brian seems remarkably unaffected. 

“don’t be daft.” he says just as sharply before he rubs his eyes and sighs. “i can see how unhappy the two of you are, all i’m saying is don’t waste this opportunity.” he says and seems to be somewhere in the past, eyes sad and tone filled with regret.

“he doesn’t like me that.” you mutter and despite his somber mood, brian laughs albeit a bit uncomfortable.

“you’d be a fool to not see how much he cares for you. while i’m not for certain, i don’t think he’d be upset at you telling him. rather the opposite actually.” he says tone oddly fond in a way it never gets when mentioning paul, and you raise your head and look at him questioningly.

“i love him brian, so much.” you whisper, shocked at your admission, even more so for saying it out loud for the first time and to his credit his eyes only widen a bit. huh, you thought he knew. you thought everyone knew. it was obvious how much paul meant to you.

“while that’s more than i thought was there, my message remains the same. paul loves you, i’m sure of it.” brian says, and you find yourself consoled, mind more at ease. still unwilling to not have the last word, you smirk at him.

“if this goes wrong i’m blaming you.” you tease, pointing a finger at him, and brian smiles.

“i’d expect nothing else from you john. you know i’d do everything for you boys, and taking the fall for you is not something new to me.” he smiles, bittersweetly and you feel a wave of fondness wash over you and despite yourself you thank him. he waves you off, and you set off with a clear conscious and a new wave of hope.

and if brian looks off-put for the next few days, you let him be. after all you know how it feels to love someone who doesn’t love you back.

-

of course it would all come out because of a song. because nothing could ever be clear and precise between the two of you. though when you look back on the memory, you realize how obvious you were and the song was the straw that broke the camel’s back

you had sat down in the studio, paul across from you, and you remember thinking nothing of it when you introduced the song.

“it will have a melody something like this” you strum a bit watching as paul lit up and grabbed his own bass and added his own bit to it. you smile at him and hum a little, listening to the bass throb heavily through the studio.

“so what’s the lyrics then johnny?” he asks and you smile self conscious, you didn’t work on the lyrics all that much and you found them a bit cheesy. even so you began to half sing them, voice soft and lilting. 

it’s only love and that is all  
why should i feel the way i do  
it’s only love, and that is all  
but it’s so hard living you

you finish quietly and when the room remains silent, you squirm in your seat and look up to find paul looking at you strangely, his hands tights on his guitar. you tilt your head in confusion and clear your throat awkwardly.

“is it not good? i know the lyrics are a bit corny but i wanted to try something new.” you offer and when paul just looks at you with narrowed, searching eyes you speak again. “paul, some feedback would be nice.” paul jumps and shakes his head, as if clearing his thoughts and he looks away for a moment, your eyes hungrily watching the movement of his throat.

“it’s uh, nice lyrics johnny.” pail eventually says and you hear the but left unsaid. soon enough paul speaks again eyes catching yours with a right sincerity in them. “just the lyrics, some of the them seem a bit revealing don’t they?” he says and when you look at him with a raised eyebrow and he repeats some of your lyrics back at you.

you listen and you don’t hear anything that should get him acting so odd, and you are confused. you find that you are often confused with paul these days, your connection with him not as strong. you wonder if you can return it and ask for a new, less broken one.

“just has implications that’s all.” paul says when he realizes you are confused.

“implications of what? it’s a love song paul, it’s not that deep.” you say starting to get annoyed at the way paul is veering around what he wants to say. “just say what you want to say.” paul startles and then gives you a wary look before chuckling uncomfortably.

“some of the lyrics sound kinda queer john.” he says causally and when you stay frozen, suddenly unwilling to listen he continues, mistaking your silence for something it’s not. “not that there is anything wrong with it, just was wondering what got you to write lyrics like that.” he adds as if it helps the turmoil occurring in your head. you think for a moment to play it off but the ugly fear rears it’s head and you get ugly.

“are you calling me a queer?” you say so softly, your tone understating the shake to your hands and burning fear in your throat. paul looks at you with wide eyes, and you can’t understand why he seems so reluctant to continue and so sad.

“did you not listen to what i said? it’s fine johnny! all of it, i’d love you no matter what team you played for.” his words are so heart wrenching and earnest that you are nearly pulled into a false sense of security, his charms working his way to disarm you. on another day you’d allow it, but not today, not now when you let your secret slip.

panic twists, heavy around your throat, and for a brief moment, you can’t breathe. your lungs feel as if they are collapsing and you hear nothing but the distant roaring in your ears, and the shaky pant of your breath. then you snap out of it, eyes wild and brain telling you to get mean.

“i’m not a fucking fag!” you sneer afraid and pissed all at once, watching paul look at you with a tragic look. he doesn’t believe you, you think with horror, and the months of self acceptance fall apart with a single look. “i’m not.” you insist, voice cracking and fuck, you never thought it would go down like this. you weren’t the one who was supposed to break down, and in all the versions of paul finding out, you never were the one to cry. tears of bliss maybe, but never sadness. looks like fate has other plans for you, as you feel the heavy feeling in your throat drop and suddenly you feel sick beyond control.

“i’m not saying you are. you can like both. it’s okay.” paul says consolingly and you shake your head, standing up, your chair screeching loudly against the floor.

“you don’t believe me.” your voice comes out drained and weak, and you hate the way you thought this conversation would go okay. hate the way that despite the fact that you are queer, or somewhat at any rate, and yet you can’t admit it to your best friend.

paul looks at you, and you, for a brief moment, see tears in his eyes. the tension filled moments have lead to this moment you think, hovering over his figure, chest heaving and eyes pricking with similar tears. when paul speaks again it is soft and damning all at once.

“well what should i think? with brian and all that.” he leaves himself out of the sentence, but you hear it anyways. he fucking knows, and you’d didn’t get to tell him, and he’s being odd about it. you can’t function, backing away from him.

“i don’t know what you’re thinking but you better quit it.” you say shakily watching him stand up and walk to you, palms raised as if to soothe you.

“it’s okay john, you can say it.” paul says, almost desperately and you hate it. “please just say it.” he begs and for the life of you, you can’t comprehend the situation. you shake your head, and close your eyes, feeling the press of your glasses against your nose. it grounds you and you take a calming breath, only to recall paul telling you once that you looked good in glasses. you let out a weird cry, half frantic and half angry and you turn to walk away. cowardice runs in your blood, and so it comes to rear it’s ugly head.

“fuck off paul.” you say angrily and sad all at once and you grasp the doorknob twisting it open with shaky hands. “come after me and i’ll fucking deck you.” you manage to get out before tears start falling and you find yourself running, tunnel vision narrowing until all you see is your own tears.

you hear paul call your name, desperate in a way you’ve never heard before, and it makes your heart ache. 

it makes your heart bleed, and you curse love threefold.


	6. Chapter 6

it is curious, the way you thought you could escape your problems, as if ignoring them and turning a blind eye to the worried looks from the others or the way he tries to talk to you, eyes downturned and scared. for the first time in a while you feel truly older than him, and it shows in how he goes from a childish game of silence to pleading looks and open gestures of emotion to try and make you speak. like the immature twat you are, you remain silent, fixing unnecessarily harsh glares at everyone around you. they should know you by now, so getting offended when you become cruel will do them no good.

still, you can’t help but feel like an absolute idiot, because even now with your mortification and fear, you still catch yourself watching him. watching the way he enters bliss when he starts performing, or the creases in his eyes when he smiles at you, nervous and worried all at once. and god, you hate it. the way he pretends nothing happened and acts as if he shouldn’t be running for hills by now. you know ringo and george know, because for some reason they have turned on you, and you find yourself cornered at every practice and studio session. a day in the life for a lovesick mess.

you should have know from the weird look george gave you, that today was going to change things. 

immediately after entering the studio, you knew something was off and you look around trying to figure it out. out of nowhere it dawns on you, paul is nowhere to be seen. you think he might be in the bathroom but when ringo shoots you a look, you realize none of the boys have seen him. both irritated and immensely worried you turn to brian with a raised eyebrow.

“where the fuck is he then? why his he late?” you demand, because if there is one person who is obnoxiously on time constantly it’s paul. so if he is not here, he’s either dead or will be when you get to him.

brian clears his throat primly and fixes you with a stare. “you’re late too, you know right.” he says completely ignoring your question and you set your guitar down with a huff.

“so? that’s normal for me! i want to know why mr. perfect isn’t here, thank you very much.” you say snidely and watch as the audio team from behind the glass give each other knowing looks. it’s not uncommon, and you are all too aware of the looks and reactions people have when they think you aren’t watching. but the thing is, you always are watching and they think you are nothing more than a reckless piece of shit. it pisses you off that they pretend to know you, and you wish he was here. even in your misdirected fear, and growing anger, you want no one else. 

so you refuse to explain yourself, not wasting the energy. he’s the only one that understands you and that’s the way you wish to keep it.

“i don’t know, why don’t you go check his house?” brian says back and you send him a glare. the past awkward tension filled week was awful as it was, but brian constantly shoots these worried and all too knowing looks at you. you hate it. hate the way he cares, and looks at you as if you’re part of some queer rejection club now. you might be avoiding things but you’re not so low to think you were so utterly rejected that you’d hang with brian and his people. 

“maybe i don’t want to!” you say suddenly, chest hurting and for a moment you consider giving up and lying in the road. you imagine it wouldn’t hurt as much as this does, this heavy ache of unfinished rejection and a broken friendship. you feel your eyes prick with unwanted tears, and you grit your teeth and sneer instead. you won’t cry over this, and certainly not in front of someone who will give you nothing but sad empathy. it’s not want you need, and you refuse to take it.

brian sighs, looking sad and you see him look over your shoulder, and when he raises a questing eyebrow you peer suspiciously at him. he makes a motion to the staff, and they all start filing out, making your heart rate pick up. sooner than you can react two hands grip your shoulders and begin to pull you to the center of the room. you begin to scream over the top and you flail you limbs, because what the actual fuck are they doing. george and ringo bear it and despite your attempts to dead weight them, they bring you to an icy cold chair and shove you into it. when you move to stand up, they each place a hand on the juncture of your neck and your shoulder and press warningly. 

“what the fuck are you wankers up to now?” your voice comes out brittle and not angry enough for your taste. you see ringo look at you with a curious searching sort of way that makes your skin crawl.

“no, what the fuck are you up to?” george drawls, his accent bored and unaffected, but you can see different in the way his eyes are a tad too bright and how his hand clenches in and out on your shoulder. it feels bruised already, and you keep in mind to pay him back when your band mates aren’t trying to do some twisted group therapy. 

“i’m trying time do my job! but i can’t do it very well when you tossers are pinning me to a bloody chair!” you exclaim incredulously and irked, gesturing to yourself and the two of them. when they don’t immediately respond you look to brian, who is still in his corner looking at you with his creepy knowledgeable air. fucking old man. “brian lend me a hand, and get me away from these crazy people.” you half plead, widening your eyes and pushing your hands together as if begging him. when ringo chuckles lightly you wack his hand, and continue your stare off with brian, eyes burning both from the bright studio lights and the weight of the emotion you won’t dare to express.

eventually ringo gives in to the pressured silence, and you squeezes your shoulder lightly, the pressure light and comforting in a way the older man always managed to be. “what we mean to ask, is what are you doing with paul?” he asks and your blood runs cold, denials coming out of your mouth before you can comprehend them.

“the fuck does that mean? we’re bloody mates, that’s all! i’m not a fucking poof!” you say, panic in your blood thrumming until you get no outright reaction besides a wry chuckle from brian.

“mate no offense but is your brain working? we talked about this before, i know. george knows, and so does brian. don’t be daft son.” ringo says lightly and raps his knuckles against your check, and you stare at the floor cursing your own stupidity for telling them and being so obvious. “now what’s up with you and paul.”

“nothing.” you say quickly, too quickly and george sighs, sounding annoyed. for some reason it bugs you that despite whatever they are trying to do, in their failure they’ve become disappointed in you. for reasons you can’t tell, they are upset with you, and it makes you burn in embarrassment and self hatred. you blame it on how paul has upturned all your emotions, and made you into an unstable freak with too many issues to be comfortable. 

giving up rather uncharacteristically, you stare apathetically the wall in front of you, studying the patterns as if it would solve all your problems. 

“i don’t want to talk about it.” you concede, before you become a blubbering mess, already feeling the heat rise in your face and the lump in your throat continues to grow. you feel three heavy stares on you and you want nothing both to run out of the room and go get high out of your mind and ignore your problems. but you know if you tried to leave, they stop you, and despite the fact that you could take them if you wanted to, you know you’re all bark and no bite. at least with your friends, they mean a lot even if they bug the shit out of you. so you stay, both to ease their minds, and to itch the curiosity of why they keeping asking you about paul.

“obviously, or you’d be all over him like you normally are.” ringo says slightly amused and you look at him despite yourself to see a fond smile. “why aren’t the two of you taking? usually when you two fight, we never hear the end of it. all paul did this, paul said that.” he says gesturing his hand around mimicking your movements in a way that makes you both annoyed and also incredibly fond.

“yeah you’re a bit obsessed mate. i reckon he is too, with all the calls i get from him, only for him to bring up you most of the time.” george adds tone way too smug for ratting out his friend, and you look at him with wide eyes and a tilt of your head.

“wait he talks about me?” you ask incredulously, your insecurities coming out without permission, and receive laughs from all around him.

“you’re kidding right?” george asks still laughing, faint wheezes that only a smoker’s lung would have, and you say nothing but you feel your face contort in an ugly sort of way, and his face softens.

“god john, how could he not? i mean you two are lennon-mccartney!” he emphasizes almost bitterly, and you make a note address that with paul before a rift forms. when you shrug, almost uncaringly, ringo looks vaguely like he’s about to say something strange.

“when i joined the band, i thought you two were, y’know..” he says quietly and makes a crude gesture with his hands, making your face flush with a ferocity that would rival a bird. figures that you could make lewd jokes left and right, but even the mention of doing the dirty with paul gets you heated. 

“well we weren’t.” you say, and you cringe at how upset you sound, and it’s clear they caught that too. brian gives an odd little cough, clearly uncomfortable as he makes to speak.

“but you want to? don’t you john.” he says not really asking, and you find yourself nodding in a subdued way as you get caught up in unwanted feelings. you’re so sick of waiting for love, and being reminded that you’re not with him makes you ache all over. 

you find yourself speaking, feeling smaller than you’ve ever been, the weight of their stares making you self conscious of what you say. “he found out around a week ago.” ignoring the small gasps, he looks at his hands and grits his teeth when he sees them shake. “he was oddly supportive, but he doesn’t know i, that i like him.” you stutter on your words, and the inner voice in your head tells you to man up. you ignore it for once, figuring you can allow yourself to be emotionally connected for once. you also ignore the way you are lying to them. while you aren’t entirely sure if he knows, you can’t be sure with how your last conversation went.

“how doesn’t he know? if you told him, it should be obvious?” brian asks incredulously and you roll your eyes and look up to glare at him half heartedly.

“cause i didn’t tell him! he somehow found out through some shitty lyrics and thought i was coming out to him. not that i was coming onto him.” you say, irony making you grin almost manically, your sadness being shoved in the back of your mind for brief, relieving moment.

“oh.” george says rather lamely, and you snort derisively for the mess that this situation has become. “why didn’t you tell him the truth? i mean you’re not like that, it’s just paul isn’t it?” george says and than looks almost apologetically in brian’s direction who just waves him off. when you stay silent again george narrows his eyes and then backs away with a quiet woah.

“really?” he questions, and you shrug unsure and uncaring if another secret of yours gets out. you’re already bared to the bone, your affections making you weak. besides paul is your deepest and most treasured secret, so anything else can’t hurt you the way he could.

“wait what’s going on?” ringo asks and george looks at him with wide eyes, and then gestures to you with frantic arms. when ringo looks at him with a shrug, george sighs and fixes you with a unrecognizable stare.

“he just admitted he was y’know.” george flounders for a moment and you remind yourself to be amused when this train wreck is over. george continues clearly uncomfortable, and points at john accusingly. “he’s queer!” he exclaims clearly lost for words, and ringo raises and eyebrow and appraises you with a searching look. when no one says anything you sigh and rotate your shoulders so that their hands fall off them and you sit up straighter for posterity.

“not queer, i like birds too y’know.” you admit easily, and you wonder why it’s so much easier to tell them, then paul. you figure because their rejection would hurt, but his would destroy you.

brian speaks up, stepping so he is nearly in front of you and wrings his hands, an odd nervous trait you rarely see from him. “nothing wrong with that john. is there?” he asks, looking apprehensively at george and ringo, who both look at you, and they nod slowly, still taking in their revelations.

“when did you figure that one out then?” ringo asks conversationally and you chuckle at his way to make the room more comfortable. 

you lean back and pretend to think about it before sitting up, feeling your lips stretch into a smile. “elvis man.” you say gleefully, not really lying, thinking of his heavy voice, and the late nights of your adolescence where you’d fall asleep to his records only for him to enter your dreams with bright smiles and a wink sultry enough to make you shudder. then you recall another boy with elvis hair, with a lilting voice and dexterous fingers, and you find yourself back in the early mornings when you’d wake up in his bed. you’d wake up in his bed, his arm heavy and warm on your waist, and the enticing heat of his body pressed up against yours. you try not to think of the desperate want that followed, nor the all encompassing love you have for him. it’s not something you think of in the light of day.

it’s funny how even now, everything comes back to paul. 

you must of had some sort of dreamy look on his face, cause you here some sort of mutter of ‘john’s at it again, disgusting’ and you smile despite yourself. talking about it, though uncomfortable and rather invasive, has made the weight on your shoulders feel less like a burden. perhaps talking isn’t too bad, every blue moon or so.

“well mate, we’re here for you, though i’ll admit i was pissed off at you for a bit.” ringo says and you look at him, shocked at his easy words. “i mean paul’s been looking super awful lately, and you haven’t been exactly the nicest in the past week.” ringo says weakly looking at the way your face darkens as he continues. you allow it though, knowing he’s right, but you huff angrily anyways because even now you refuse to be a push over.

“it’s not my fault he was all supportive is it? it got me all worked up and i freaked out! he shouldn’t have spoken on it is all i’m saying.” you say almost bitterly not noticing the way the boys attention is suddenly towards the front of the room. “and i just couldn’t handle it, i mean he’s my friend and all, best friend even, but you can’t spring that on a lad. like i hadn’t even thought of a way to tell him and he goes on with his bright eyes and charms all supportive and shit. it’s disgusting is what it is.” you exclaim, distantly hearing george say your name almost warily. you look at him annoyed that you are being interpreted mid rant.

“maybe you should shut it.” ringo suggests lightly and you wack his hand affronted.

“you what?” you say and then you hear a delicate but distinct cough from behind you. you feel yourself lose your color, and with a shaky breathe you turn to look behind you.

paul is standing in the doorway, eyes widened and a dull flush on his cheeks. it’s clear he heard a good part of your conversation, and you curse out loud. god knows your luck has been actual shit, and it makes sense that paul would walk in when you’re talking about him. you wonder how much he heard, and what he is thinking. you then realize george and ringo knew he was here, and you feel your face burn with a disconnected anger. you make to slap ringo and george for not telling you anything sooner, but you choke on your actions when he speaks.

“erm, sorry for being so late. i had to deal with some things and they got a bit out of hand.” paul says and walks in slowly, and your eye catches on a pale, pink handprint on his right check. your eyes narrow and watch him shakily place his guitar down, before he faces you with a nervous smile. 

before you can stop yourself you speak up, eyes not moving from his face. “does the handprint have anything to do with your late arrival.” you ask, too soft, concern bleeding through your tone, and you watch his eyes widen and then bounce away from your face. for the first time in a while, conversation is awkward between the two of you, and you’d hate it if it wasn’t your fault.

paul shakes his head quickly, too quickly and you know he is lying. “no of course not! she’s a gentle thing, she wouldn’t do something like this.” paul exclaims sounding offended, and you’d almost believe it if you didn’t know him as well as you do. you catch the weird shutter of his eyes, and shaky quality to his breathing, and your first instinct is to comfort him. but you don’t know how he’d take it, so you remain seated and talk instead.

“that’s a load of shit, and you know it.” this time your tone is mean, and paul looks shocked for quick moment,and he falters in this steps. you watch him think it over, quick enough for an outsider to not notice a thing. but you do, and you smirk in triumph when he nods silently in admission.

he is shy in a way that doesn’t suit him and you watch almost pityingly as he tries to explain himself. “i broke up with jane. she didn’t take to it very kindly.” paul says with a hint of humor in his voice and he points to his face vaguely with a chuckle.

“what did you do that for? i thought you were keen on her?” george exclaims almost shocked, and you see brian look between you and paul with a smirk. you roll your eyes, not taking it for a grain of salt because you’ve given up hope with paul. or at least you say that, until he looks at you directly, eyes searching yours, wild and frenetic.

“just didn’t work out and all. i want to be with someone who really gets me you know?” paul says staring at you, and you feel flayed open, ready to be sacrificed in the name of love. you didn’t know how much you missed the heat he brought to your life until it is back, strangely brighter and scalding to the touch. too caught up in your own thoughts you almost don’t hear him say it. “it’s like in all those books birds like to read and cry over. i’m looking for a soulmate, she wasn’t it.”

you feel your legs weaken and had you been standing you would of collapsed. you allow that stupid, consuming hope to take control, and you watch his movements with a renewed fervency, waiting for an impossible hint.

“who do you reckon it is then? if not her then who?” ringo says, indulging in paul’s romantic tendencies. george lets out an amused snort, taking what paul said as lunacy and you watch it all play out in a daze.

paul looks at you again with a side glance, a gentle smile playing on his lips and you want to smile back, ready to mend the rift currently between you. before you get the chance to fall on your knees and worship the man as he deserves, he speaks again, tone airy and reverent, breathtaking in its honesty.

“the way i see it, is that i’ve already found them. i’ve know it for a while, but recently i’ve been given hope that i’m theirs too.” paul says simply, as if his words weren’t causing a storm in his head. you look to him hoping and wary all at once, and he smiles back hesitant but sure all the same.

his eyes seem to say, wait for me, and so you do, heart beating a violent melody against your chest.

-

laughter peals from the studio, reverberating a distinct unforgettable pitch, as necessary to you as breathing. the choir of the loud bellows and sharp giggles make you feel unadulterated joy.

you stop, hand on the doorknob, not willing to step in and hear the laughter cease.

you hover, door cracked open so you can see him, just beyond his line of sight. you smile inadvertently, eyes creasing you when you see him folded over, breathlessly laughing over something ringo had said. he is gorgeous like this, and reminds you of the boy you fell in love with. you yearn for the years past, but you also know you wouldn’t trade this paul for the world. he has grown with you, and is a part of so many of your memories, you’ve forgotten who you were before him. he giggles capturing your attention, and tries to stand up with a careful smooth over of his mask only to make eye contact with george. he tries not to laugh, his face contorting in a way that would make anyone else ugly, and fails when ringo says something unintelligible. as you watch on, enamored with how happy and carefree he looks, you wonder if it’s too late to fix the oddness that has surrounded the two of you.

you’re supposed to be leaving for the airport soon, for some press conference in the states, and here they are acting like children. 

it makes your heart awfully fond, and you shake your head, trying to ignore the happy warmth that begins to spread through your chest. you find yourself content in letting them be, eyes tracing paul’s movement with an odd sort of reverence. your stupid brain can’t help itself, and it takes snapshots of him like this, so that you can look upon them later. you allow yourself to think of him, let him consumer your every thought, and lose yourself in him a brief moment.

you try not to think of how much longer you’ll have this, being together.

the thought comes upon you like an ugly dark cloud, on the otherwise clear sky of your brain, and you feel your smile dim, melancholy settling into your skin. something must change in the air, paul has always been remarkably keen when he wants to be, because in that moment he chooses to look at you.

it startles you when his gaze sharpens as it locks with yours, and you see an array of emotions pass on his face as he watches you. it makes you itch, and want to crawl out of your skin, desperate to escape the tension the two of you have. before it was invigorating and exciting, the push and pull the two of you had, but now it scares you endlessly. embarrassed without really knowing why, your turn on the ball of your foot to escape not wanting to ruin paul’s mood.

“hey john!”

you hear it and hesitate, before sighing as your shoulders deflate into a hunch. you paste an awkward smile on your face, and pray he ignores it as you turn to face him. he walks up to with a casual ease, and you watch with growing apprehension as he stops right in front of you, the whispering gossip of your band mates setting the soundtrack to this moment.

“mccartney.” you acknowledge, duller than it should be and you watch him snort with amusement.

“wow so formal. what’s got your knickers in a twist?” he says brightly, and you silently curse him. you go to reply ‘you, idiot’ but you figure that wouldn’t be appropriate for the moment so you show some self restraint. he gives you a look over and then softens, it taking years off his already youthful features. “have you ate yet? you’ve been getting skinny lately and i don’t want you to keel over.” paul says it lightly as if it were just a joke, but you can see the palpable concern that’s there in his eyes. you want to ask him if he finds you attractive like this, with less weight on your heavy bones, if he believes the papers when they call you the fat beatle. or if he prefers you as you are, and finds you beautiful in the way you find him. he doesn’t wait for you to answer and he points behind his back and ringo, with an amused glint to his eyes. “i had brought something for you to eat but ringo attacked me as soon as walked through the door.” you laugh at ringo’s adamant shouts of denial and he grins hesitantly at you. “but i managed to save a bit of it and”

he steps closer pointing a long finger at you, and your eyes go cross trying to watch it.

“i made it myself, so you better eat it. you know i don’t cook so it’s special.” he declares vaguely proud in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. “so if you refuse it i’ll be pissed off mate.”

he dramatically pouts and you study the laugh lines of his face, and dusky red of his lips against the pale hue of his skin. he in that moment lives up to his status as the cute beatle, you think desperately, trying to figure how to not muck up the conversation. you think that you’d go to war for that face, and despite all the broken hearts he leaves in his wake you refuse to be scared. not now when he is properly talking to you for the first time in nearly two weeks, and he is too cute for his own good. 

besides you’ve decided then and there you wouldn’t mind your heart being broken.

though it makes you wonder if he swung that way, with a face like his, would he ever settle for you. content to settle with your lackluster looks and appalling personality. 

“hey.” he says softly, face relaxing into something more gentle, and infinitely more serious. you feel it again, his inquisitive gaze that makes him look at you as if he new all your secrets and was just waiting for you to figure them out yourself. he wonder what he sees now, all the broken, jagged edges of your heart, or the attempt at a cold mask to deflect questions. “are you okay?” he asks and distantly you here ringo quietly tell george that they should go out for a smoke.

you take a rattling deep breath, intent on saying some sort of lie or throwing the question back at him, but your heart surges and gets the best of you and you end up blurting out something entirely different. “i love you.” your tone is brittle and almost meek, and it irks you, that even in your accidental confession you have no control over yourself.

“oh shit, come on george.” ringo says voice weird and hurried, and you watch out of the corner of your eye as they practically run outside, cigarettes already lit.

you hear george say something about giving them an hour, or they’ll walk into them snogging, and you roll your eyes until they hurt.

turning back to him, you find him gaping at you with a look of utter befuddlement. “what?”

you swallow around your suddenly dry throat, and you want to melt into the earth and never return. the gnawing pain, that’s been eating away at your heart for god knows how long makes it’s presence front and center, and you almost keel over from its intensity. you find the truth settled in your throat, forcing you to face it, when you’ve been trying to outrun it all this time.

you can’t escape it now, when the reason is right in front of you looking so small and confused, and it makes you want to fix things.

“i’m in love with you. it’s obvious innit?”

the pin that drops in the foolwing silence makes you gasp for air, as the weight of your chest falls away, leaving you rather empty and hopeful all the same. it feels as if you were about to explode, flying around as a million different shards.

“what?” he exclaims again, an edge of hysteria that wasn’t there before, and you cringe away and take a step back. the desire to please him and seem infinitely cooler than you really are has you cowering under the barely concealed anger in his face. “why the fuck are you telling me this now? cause it’s convient? because you’ve told everyone else, so you figure i might as well hear it?”

“yes. well no.” you stammer looking as a red flush spread on his checks with a half involved interest. “actually yes, i mean—“

“what the fuck john!”

“i didn’t know how to tell you! i was fucking scared arsehole.” you exclaim eventually, matching his anger with your own; even now you are equals constantly stepping up to meet the other. he takes a visible step back, looking visibly shattered. you can’t keep your voice from cracking from the emotion in the air, and your chest heaves for the air it can’t grasp. “it was easier telling the others, because they weren’t you. if i lost them, it would hurt and i’d be devastated. but i’d get over it. but you’re my best friend, i didn’t want to fathom my world where—“

you break off with a dry sort of sob. you face falls in your hands, because what the actual fuck are you doing. in all the times you imagined this moment, you crying like a baby before you could finish was not one of them.

“you make me happy. and i was willing to not tell you to at least have some part of you.” you whisper through your fingers, eyes clenched so tight it’s giving you a headache. “i didn’t want to risk hearing your disgust, and watch you leave. so i didn’t say much.”

the admission is wrung from you, violent from how shaky it leaves you, shaky and spineless in your cowardliness. it feels like breaking through the surface of the ocean, after nearly drowning. the water clinging onto you for so long, the liquid guilt hanging from your skin finally leaving. you can breathe again.

“oh my god.” the strange wonder in his voice makes you tense up as he laughs wearily. “you’re such an idiot john.”

of all you fake scenarios in your heads, this is not a reaction you had dreamed up. 

“what?”

your newly found breath gets knocked right back out of you, when something solid hits your chest and you drop you hands to catch it. your heart clenches for a moment as you recognize the heavy leather. it’s your old notebook, something you haven’t see since the beginning of this whole mess. the thought of paul having it for nearly seven years makes your heart do weird things.

then it dawns on you this was the notebook you drew in, when you still tried in art school, and you remember the sketches of long hands and pursed lips, faces with angled eyebrows and doe eyes. you then, with a hot blush on your face, remember the crude drawings you drew, and it makes it worse when you know he’s seen them. it funny how even then, your art was trying to tell you something was up, the idea that paul was your muse nothing more than a thinly veiled excuse.

“i’ve been writing songs in there, whenever i found inspiration. you should find some that you recognize.” he says as if this alarming breach of your privacy is nothing, as if it’s not mind blowing that he has done this and still stayed, despite what he inevitably saw.

in retrospect, you think numbly, as you flip through the pages of love songs and sonnets with name scribbled all over, you shouldn’t have been surprised. after all, no matter how stubborn or cruel you have become, no matter how hard you tried to push him away, or how often you’ve let him down he is still here. and he’s managed to carve a permanent, irreplaceable and infinitely untouchable place in your heart.

you close it and let your fingers drag reverently over the aging leather, and you need to hear it. you ignore the insistent beating of your heart against your chest and you look at him just to find him looking back. 

he’s always looking back.

“why?” the question itself is inherently simple, but it holds so much meaning behind it and your voice cracks from the weight of it. paul looks at you earnestly a soft smile on his faces, just for you, and you know deep down what he will say.

“because i love you.” he says so quietly into the thick tension surrounding you both, and you almost blackout from the sheer bliss that comes from his words. he beams, the shining sun to your dark heavy clouds, and you imagine them parting so that the suns rays can touch you. he is your beacon of light, a god of his own right, pulling you like a siren, and burning you with his eternal flame. real life isn’t nearly so poetic, but when you feel his hands scrape up your neck and reverently brush your temples, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

he looks at you, crazed in the eye and breath heavy with anticipation. a silent question hangs in the air and you make an impatient grunt, and he responds. his lips brush yours and you see stars, feeling as if this were your life’s purpose to be entrapped in paul’s arms with his lips hot and heavy against yours. you press up against him, the insignificant height difference between you two suddenly noticeable, and when you bite his lip, he whines. the noise spurs you on, and you grip his neck and tug him in, pressing his body against your own. 

eventually, a minute, an hour later, he pulls away, timing his gasps with your own. he smiles sweetly at you and you find yourself responding in turn.

you smile turns giddy with disbelief when his hand glides down your side and intertwines his fingers with your own.

“thank you.” you mutter against his temple, squeezing his hand lightly. he doesn’t ask why, and you know it’s because he doesn’t need to. you want to thank him for a thousand things, for bringing your life a love in which you only thought was real in songs, for dealing with your unfortunate flaws, for being him. but you hum silently against his head, a quiet tune you’ve dreamt up, and hope he knows anyways.

when he pulls back and says i love you, fond and ecstatic, with a smile you know now is yours, it’s clear he knows.

you pull at his hand, and he follows, and suddenly in a blink of an eye you’re both on stage, front and center, the person you love the most right behind you, soaring higher and shining brighter than ever.

it feels like you have conquered the world, and when he shoots you a giddy grin, the laughter that comes from his mouth silent behind the screaming roars of the crowd but memorable all the same, you know you will. 

you look at him, and he looks at you, quiet and comforting, and you see the love that has always been there but is so clear to you now, and you know you already have.

-

( sixth. he loves you, too. )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for reading and giving me amazing feedback. while it took me longer to finish then i would of liked, i’m happy this is the first thing i made on here. as always thank you so so much.


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